Fortunately, they had not far to go. Down one flight of stairs from the cool room, along a short corridor, then down a ladder. At that point, they turned once, then a second time, and finally a third while going only a short way in each direction. That took them to a room with a rough table and a couple of chairs. The wall on both sides had been left with a step up that served a dozen people as seats.
At the end of the table, eyeing Kris, was a man easily Grampa Ray's age. Only his days had been lived in the sun doing hard work, not at any desk. His hands were curled on the table, knuckles large and red. Kris suspected arthritis was finally enforcing a pause on the old workhorse. And he didn't much care for the break. Beside him sat a woman of equal age.
Kris stood, waiting for introductions.
A few more people squeezed into the room, dimly lit by a single electric lantern. When the elder seemed happy with what a glance around told him, his scowl got even deeper.
''So we drew a Longknife. I thought I'd seen the last of your kind when Ray didn't manage to get me killed on Hamdan II.''
''You and he seem to have saved humanity,'' Kris said softly. ''We haven't heard from the Iteeche in over eighty years.''
The man snorted, but did grin at the praise. ''Yeah, we did settle their four-eyed bacon. We sure did, didn't we, Hilda?''
''Those of us that survived the butchers passing themselves off for colonels. Admirals,'' the old woman said. Her teeth must have been false, for she had a whistle when she spoke. One eye was covered with a cataract or something. Curing things like that was supposed to be minor surgery.
Kris schooled her face to a gentle neutrality and waited to see where this was going.
''We ain't needed your like for sixty years,'' came from a man sitting against the wall. Around the wall, people nodded and agreed among themselves that he was right.
''You sure haven't,'' Kris said into their wave of self-affirmation. It died down after a while.
The old man shook his head and actually smiled at Kris. ''Nice of you not to point out that we're hiding down here like a bunch of rabbits just now.''
''I figured you'd bring it up when you were ready to,'' Kris said. ''If you don't mind my asking. This is quite a setup you have. I kind of doubt you dug it while those raiders were in-bound. This well-prepared defense certainly has thrown a wrench into their plans. How'd you come by it?''
The elder's smile deepened. He took the praise for what it was, a pat on the back, well earned, but ''defensive.'' Around the wall, some congratulated each other as if they had won the war.
''Didn't Andy tell you? Iteeche and Earthmen was a fun game when he was growing up. They'd dig tunnels and underground forts and ambush those ‘dirty Iteeches.' ''
''I told her about our forts,'' Andy put in. ''I kind of left out the Iteeche stuff. Out there, the four-eyes seem to be pretty well forgotten. At least where I was.''
''They are, some places,'' Kris agreed. ''I kind of have my great-grandfathers to remind me how close we all came to being an extinct race that might be the subject of an anthro paper half a million years from now for some four-eyed college student.''
''Do they have colleges?'' Andy asked.
''I never heard tell they did,'' the elder answered. ''Did the generals know more than us guys down at the gun batteries?''
''Not that I ever heard,'' Kris said. ''We beat them back without ever learning a whole lot about them.''
''All we needed to know was how to kill them,'' the woman said.
''So,'' Kris said, changing the topic away from the distant past, ''when did you start digging?''
''A bit after Andy left,'' the old man said. ''A tub wandered by here, not much trade on it, but a dozen couples got off. They were from a little place I'd heard of, Finny's Rainbow. They'd been hit by a raider. He stole all their ready cargo, a lot of their herds, and for fun, burned out a couple of spreads. The merchant tub had given them a lift out of the kindness of his heart … and an IOU signed in blood.''
''We took them in, arranged places for them to work,'' the old woman went on. ''I didn't much like the story they told. Told Bobby Joe that times must be getting raw back inside the Rim, its violence was starting to leak out to us. Some folks listened and spent their spare time digging. Others, city slickers, figured they knew better. I hope they're enjoying the hobnailed boots on their backsides.'' At that, she spat. Was it just coincidence that it went Kris's way?
''You planning on staying down here until they leave?'' Gunny asked. He'd come up beside Kris after the talking started.
''You some kind of sergeant?'' the elder asked right back.
''I work for my living,'' Gunny admitted.
''Back in the war, I had some good commanders. Some bad ones, too. Some men. A few women. This one any good?'' the local man asked, nodding toward Kris.
''I've only been with her a couple of months, but I've seen her shoot her way into a few fights. Shoot her way out with most of her own right behind her. She's not half-bad.''
Kris tried to show no reaction to the low level of praise Gunny passed her way. But then, laying it on thick would hardly have impressed this crew.
''Not half-bad, you say. Kind of hard to believe that of a Longknife,'' the old man said.
''Ain't they usually all bad?'' the old woman beside him chipped in.
''That depends on what you want them for, ma'am,'' Gunny fired right back. ''I've seen her come to the aid of folks that sure needed it but had no claim for it. Hostages on a pirate ship once, a whole planet another time. I asked what you were planning to do down here. Sit them out?''
''I kind of hoped we could,'' the elder admitted.
''They brought a boatload of troops in on a ship that don't have much range. I'm no sailor, but the scuttlebutt among them was that nobody brings a short-legged boat to someplace they plan to strip clean. I think your bug infestation is not going away anytime soon. Me and my Marines, we're good at getting rid of unwanted bugs.
''This here woman,'' Gunny said, with a nod Kris's way, ''she knows her stuff. She's just who you want in a mess like this.''
The old fellow—Bobby Joe, hadn't the other woman called him—eyed Kris. ''I never thought I'd be glad to see a Longknife,'' he finally said.
''And I can't believe you're glad to see one now,'' Hilda said. She said not a word more, but gathered up her self and stormed out. There was a quiet in the dimly lit room for a long moment after her exit. Kris listened to the clomping of her booted feet slowly grow softer as she got more distant. No one said a word until her steps were lost in the dark.
''Her husband died on Hamdan II,'' Bobby Joe said softly. ''My sister never remarried. Never forgot or forgave.''
''I'm sorry,'' Kris said, wondering if some of those who died under her command would be remembered so long. So bitterly. Was it an unavoidable legacy of her career choice? If she ever had time, she'd have to think about it.
Bobby Joe shook himself, as if to break loose of a memory that would never let go. ''Tell me, young Longknife, what would you have us do? Grab our squirrel rifles and charge that bunch?''
Kris stifled a frown … and swallowed a question. What did my great-grampa do to you? Instead, she switched her face to the cold, steely battle one, and said, ''Let's see what Thorpe does. His ship should be coming over the horizon just about now.''
That got a raised eyebrow from Grampa Bobby Joe. And silence from the kibitzers sitting along the walls.
Gunny smiled. Like a tiger catching his first glimpse of his next meal.
18
Captain Thorpe waited a full ten seconds after the Golden Hind rose above the horizon of Presley's Pride's settled area. He considered himself the epitome of patience as he gave his subordinates that sufficiency to gather data and analyze it.